


Wounds Without A Bandage

by GulJeri



Category: Bashir/Garak - Fandom, Deep Space Nine, Garak/Bashir - Fandom, Garashir - Fandom, Star Trek, ds9 - Fandom
Genre: AU, Bashir/Garak - Freeform, Garak/Bashir - Freeform, Garashir - Freeform, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GulJeri/pseuds/GulJeri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DS9 AU</p>
<p>Ex-con and addict Garak is just out of prison and put into a group home for mentally ill adult men. There he meets Jules, a resident, who loves to talk, ask too many questions, watch tennis matches, and a variety of medical dramas (he wants to be a doctor, after all). The same day the dark and damaged Garak arrives, another new resident arrives; Elim. Flamboyant with a love of fashion, flowers, and chocolate, Elim is moved into the room next door to Garak's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home Sweet Home

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M but may change to E later.  
> This is an AU but that said I try hard to keep the characters IC.  
> Garak and Elim are two different people, yes.  
> Julian is /Jules/ because his character is as he might have been had his parents never genetically enhanced him in canon.  
> Where do I get my ideas or info on how the home is ran-from my own experience working in one.

The group home smelled like disinfectant. Very strongly like disinfectant. So strongly in fact that Garak could taste it as he ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip.

His pale eyes took in his surroundings, his gaze falling specifically onto a tall, lanky young man, with pretty brown skin who was draped onto a chair. He was all legs and elbows and it seemed like he didn't know where to put them; one leg over the arm of the chair, the other tucked up awkwardly beneath him, his hand behind his head and elbow sticking up. Who the fuck sits like that anyway?

He was half hoping those big hazel eyes would meet his; but they didn't. The kid was too involved with the program that was on t.v. 

Television was just another form of dope as far as Garak was concerned and it made him itch for his drug of choice. 

He'd been clean for a little while, after he'd first been locked up, but then he'd found a way to get shit. It really wasn't that hard at all. People can get just about anything they want behind bars. It just takes some brains and some resourcefulness and Garak had those things.

“Hi! You must be Mr. Garak,” a young girl in scrubs greeted him. He looked at her name tag condescendingly and gave her a smile that was too sweet to be true.

“I must be, my dear,” he wanted to see her flinch but she was one of those weird people whose facial expression was constantly set to that of an over-bright light bulb and she didn't so much as flicker.

“This way,” she led him to the room that was to be his.

It was tiny.

“I'm claustrophobic, but I suppose you people care about as much as the State Pen did,” he sauntered in as if he didn't care that much either, but he did. His palms were already sweating. He got the idea that he'd be spending a lot of time in that main room with the cute brown kid. 

The girl with the title on her badge 'resident tech' stayed in the hallway just near his doorway, but from there she went over the rules of the house, and the routines. Everyone was assigned chores, group sessions were twice a day and mandatory, everyone rotated on taking turns helping staff prepare meals, each Friday was an 'outing' day, each Monday was counseling day, and the others were days that Garak was going to tune out the rest of what Resident Tech Light Bulb had to say because he really didn't give a fuck. What was this anyway, kindergarten?

And the room was so damn small.

He finally noticed she'd stopped talking, and in fact was no longer in the hallway outside his room, which was great. He took a look around his room; a door that went to a closet which he wasn't going to open or use, a small dresser that was already stocked with clothing in his size, plain colors with no logos; how wonderful of the staff to pick out his underwear for him. An extra pair of what they called shoes were under the bed, though they were more like slippers, nice and safe with no shoe strings in them. That was okay, Garak had gotten used to those in prison, too. God forbid anybody hang themselves or somebody might have a mess to clean up.

He sat down on his bed for a moment, but it felt like the closet door was staring at him, so he knew it was time to go.

He walked past Resident Tech Light Bulb who was further down the hallway speaking to another staff member. He caught their exchanged words that there was another new guy coming in that day. Someone named 'Elim'. 

Garak made his way to the main room and sat down on a sofa that was across from the television. The kid straightened up in his chair and his hazel eyes were wide on Garak with interest.

“Is it true that you came from prison?” he blurted out, “I mean, people here are talking.”

“Are they? Looks like no one has any secrets here,” Garak said, finding the television remote on the battered old coffee table, he picked it up and shut off the kids program.

It didn't seem to matter now though. The kids attention was rapt on him. 

“Well I won't tell anyone!” he promised.

“How very helpful,” Garak drawled sarcastically. 

“Thanks!” it seemed as though the sarcasm went over the kids head, “I'm Jules. Not jewels like the things girls wear, but--”

“Yes, I understand, Jules is a name,” Garak cut him off. 

“Yes, it's my name. What's yours?”

“Oh, you mean you don't already know?”

Jules opened his mouth to say something but Garak spoke over him before he could get any words out.

“It's Garak, plain and simple.”

“But is it true?” Jules leaned forward curiously, fidgeting with nervous excitement, “what did you go to prison for? What was it like? Is that where you got those cool tattoos? Where else do you have tattoos? How many? Can I see them?”

“My fuck, but do you ever shut up?” Garak traced one of his tattoos; a black outline of scales that came down one side of his forehead, and ran along his brow bone, and curved down along the bottom of his orbital bone. He had another matching on the other side of his face, with an inverted tear shape in the center of his forehead, and a little trail of scales tracing down the center of his nose. A few more were accented along his jawline, and on his chin. 

“You look like a lizard,” Jules grinned.

“I like reptiles. They're cold blooded, did you know that?”

Jules looked bewildered.

“Ah, never mind. As for your very invasive and quite extensive list of questions--if I ever was in prison it would be none of your business to know why, what I'd gotten while there, or what it was like. In fact you ask far too many questions, Jules, and if it wasn't for the aesthetics that I find enjoyable, I would tell you to get the fuck away from me.”

“Oh,” Jules said, blinking several times.

He reached for the remote.

“I'm putting my program back on.”

Garak sighed.

“What are you watching, anyway?” he glared at the television from beneath his scales.

“Grey's Anatomy,” Jules said, “I want to be a doctor.”

-


	2. A Flower Among Thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks for Kudos on ch. 1. Please don't be afraid to leave comments either, good or bad or whatever, as they really really do encourage me and help me to know that my story is worth continuing.
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes. I try to make as few of them as possible but I must point out that I've just finished writing this chapter and it's 4:30 a.m. so if there are some mess ups that's why.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around for ch. 2 <3

Garak had fallen asleep on the sofa during one of Jules' medical programs. The couch was not specifically conducive to sleep, but in Garak's opinion, the program had been. 

He was snoring when roused from his sleep by Jules gripping his foot and shaking it. He growled and just barely refrained from choking the kids skinny neck.

“Don't ever--” Garak was hissing at Jules but he was cut off.

“Shh—look!” Jules pointed, “he's gray isn't that fascinating? Why would a person be gray? I know why, I think!”

Garak sighed, and glanced towards the person in question, a man who was much the same build as himself and speaking with the staff. His clothing was the first thing that caught Garak's eye rather than his skin. It was obvious that the man had a sense for fashion and he looked put together far to well to be a new resident in this shithole; at least Garak thought so. 

The man's back was mostly turned to Garak now as he spoke, but when he turned, Garak saw that Jules was correct. The man was indeed gray. 

“Jules, Garak, I'd like you to meet E...Elim?” This from another staff member, not the one who had given Garak his welcoming talk. She was in the kitchen preparing lunch. This staff, Garak had learned, was a college student doing and internship. From the look of his midsection it looked as though he enjoyed putting down a few drinks in his spare time.

But it was this odd, gray, Elim fellow who had Garak's attention. 

Gray. Really, truly, gray.

“Elim, yes, that's right,” the man said pleasantly.

“You're gray!” Jules blurted out.

Garak almost laughed at that.

“Good eye, kiddo,” he said to Jules, then turned to Elim, “what are you then, some sort of alien? Do tell.”

Elim appeared uncomfortable for a moment but tried to hide it with a small smile.

“Well I—I--am new here I think I should... are there more residents? Let's meet them,” Elim said to the staff—Garak squinted at the name badge on his shirt and thought it said 'Williams' on it. 

The staff who was possibly 'Williams' agreed and moved Elim towards another area of the house so he could be introduced to the rest.

“He's not an alien,” Jules said, “he's just gray. I know why, you know. See watching my medical dramas does pay off. There was an episode with a man who was gray. It's called argyria. You don't know what that is because you just like to sleep through medical programs, don't you?”

“Yes, I was quite enjoying it until someone woke me up in the most irritating manner,” Garak glared at Jules.

“I woke you because a gray man came in and you ought to think that's fascinating! I do. I know why he's gray—it's the argyria. Aren't you going to ask me what it is?”

“Enlighten me, doctor,” Garak said, voice dripping sarcasm.

“When someone is exposed to excessive amounts of silver, most commonly through the ingestion of colloidal silver, ones skin will often turn grayish! Silver toxicity,” Jules grinned proudly. He sat down next to Garak, and rocked himself excitedly.

“Why would one ingest excessive amounts of silver?” Garak asked, knowing well he would likely get a lengthy and overly-enthusiastic reply from Jules.

“Well, it used to be commonly used in medications before penicillin was discovered. It's debated whether or not colloidal silver has any benefits at all, but some practitioners of alternative medicine still use it, so... I suppose Elim did that.”

“That's absurd. Wouldn't one notice that they were turning silver, and logically deduce that it might just be from some sort of silver compound that they're ingesting, and—I don't know—stop ingesting it?”

“We'll have to ask him, won't we? Maybe he wanted to be gray,” Jules mused.

“Why would he want to be gray? That's asinine.”

“Why would someone want lizard tattoos on their face?” Jules responded, and shrank away when Garak growled at him, “did I say something bad?”

“You're just significantly irritating, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Not that, specifically,” Jules said, straightening himself back up and resuming his rocking, “I bet no one else in the house knows why Elim's gray. I should go tell everyone else!”

“You go do that,” Garak advised, complete with a shooing motion.  
By dinner time everyone in the house had heard about argyria too many times over. Jules' excitement about having known something, especially something medically relevant, had yet to cool down despite how obviously uncomfortable Jules' repetitive discussion of the topic was making the houses' newest resident. The young man could barely eat his food (which he had to eat all in separate bowls, it could absolutely not be all on the same plate) for being so wrapped up in his diagnosis. 

“Why did you take the colloidal silver?” Jules kept asking this throughout dinner, and it had been met with Elim looking extremely uncomfortable, and attempting to avoid answering by striking up conversation with someone else at the table as though he hadn't heard Jules questions at all.

“Do you know what would be lovely for this table? A flower arrangement. A fresh flower arrangement. Oh, I used to have just the loveliest garden,” Elim said to the man next to him, who was called Titus, and who was so medicated that was in a permanent haze and was drooling onto his plate instead of eating.

“What do you think this place is, some sort of fancy resort? Why the fuck would they give a bunch of mental cases like use a centerpiece for our table? We're lucky we have actual silverware and not plastic—which actually makes no sense at all. Any of us could smuggle a butter knife or fork into our rooms and jam it into our throats--”

“Don't talk about that!” Jules cried, covering his ears, “stop it I can't stand to hear about people hurting themselves!”

Though he began to bite his own hands in response to being upset.

“Interesting you can't hear about it but you'll do it to yourself. Here,” Garak offered Jules a fork. It was a bit of a cruel gesture, and it just made Jules more upset. Staff should have probably intervened but 'Williams' was just looking tired and ready to clock out. 

Elim left his seat and moved to Jules, and spoke to him quietly, and then the two of them stepped away from the table and asked if they could go outside 'to smoke'. Smoke breaks were just one of the few reasons that any of the residents were allowed outside unsupervised and as Garak watched them from the corner of his eye, he suspected that neither of those men wanted outside to actually smoke. He excused himself from the table. He did smoke, and he wanted to know if those two planned to go out side to have a bitch session about him. They'd have ten minutes. 

Williams waved a hand at the three of them and Elim guided Jules out onto the porch. They sat down together and Jules continued to bite at his hands. Garak stomped down the wooden porch steps and positioned himself at an ash tray. Of course residents weren't allowed to keep something as dangerous as a lighter on their person. Anyone who smoked kept their packs in the office with the techs, and it was the techs responsibility to hand out one lighter to the smoking group when they went out, and to get it back immediately upon the group returning. Garak hung a Pall Mall in the corner of his mouth and flicked the lighter. There was a tiny pinup girl on the sides of the plastic lighter, but it mostly worn off from repeated use. Her chest was still clearly visible though, and Garak was glad for that.

"Don't smoke!" Jules cried, "it's terrible for you! It's horrible! It puts tar into your lungs, and causes emphysema, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and cancer! Adenocarcinoma! Squamos cell carcinoma! Large cell carsinoma! Mesothelioma! Nueroendocrine tumors!" 

"For fucks sake, are you quite finished?" Garak asked, and took a long drag of his cigarette which made Jules wince. 

"No, there's still small cell lung cancer-" Jules words were cut off as he bit at his hand, "which makes up," another bite, "15-20 percent of--ow!" 

“Please, Jules, if you stop biting I'll tell you why I have argyria,” Elim said, looking concerned, or maybe 'pretend' concern. It was hard for Garak to tell but it was also hard for him to understand someone being concerned over a random stranger--especially one who was incredibly annoying.  
Julian traded the biting for rocking. 

Elim took a deep breath before beginning.

“My father died when I was young. After that I was all my mother had left, and his death had left her more than a little mentally unstable. She became obsessive over my health, but she'd never trusted doctors, so it was up to her to keep me healthy. She tried very hard to keep me well. I was sick a lot after father died. My therapist thinks that I really wasn't, that my mother just thought I was always sick, and put a lot of it into my head...” Elim paused, seeming uncomfortable with the topic, but after a moment he continued.

“My mother did her best to keep me healthy herself, which meant a lot of alternative medicines and concoctions of her own were used. She had me on so many vitamins, supplements, herbal things, all sorts of things—I think I ate more pills than food. She gave me colloidal silver often. It made me gray.”

Jules had calmed down a bit while Elim was speaking and his rocking was minimal by the time Elim was finished.

"What a heartwarming tale," Garak said with sarcasm as thick as the smoke that was circling his head. He puffed out a smoke ring. Jules seemed fascinated by the drifting smoke ring for a moment, but then he must have remembered how 'terrible' smoking was because he cringed away from it. 

“My mum and dad tried strange things on me too. Experimental things," Jules said to Elim, "they thought they could fix my head.”

“And yours turned you brown?” Elim teased.

“No, they didn't. Well—not with medication. I suppose in a way they did turn me brown, though, seeing as it was their genes that did it. I'm just brown because they are.”

Garak snorted. The boy had obviously missed the joke and taken the comment literally. 

“That's fine, it looks lovely on you,” Elim said.

“You don't look that bad either,” Jules said in return. Garak assumed that was meant to be a compliment for Elim, but it was a fairly poor one. Elim smiled gently at Jules.

“Do you know what would look just lovely on either side of this porch?" Elim said, "some flowering bushes—perhaps Spanish lavender. It would serve a duel purpose of brightening the space up, and it would smell far more pleasant than these ashtrays do.”

Garak wondered if that was a dig at him. Elim had tilted his head to the side and seemed to be looking at Garak rather than the actual ash tray.

“Then you could cut some for the table, too,” Jules suggested, “why do you like flowers so much?”

“Mm, perhaps. I've a feeling our 'friend' Mr. Garak would throw a fit if I brought flowers to the table. He seems rather incorrigible. To answer your question, though, I like plants because they don't mind if one is gray.”

“I don't mind,” Jules said.

"You look like the Tinman," Garak said, flicking an ash in the direction of Jules and Elim, then stubbing the butt of his cigarette out in the tray. 

“Then maybe you, my dear, will prove to be my flower,” Elim was ignoring Garak, and he gently cradled Jules' hand, inspecting the red half-moon teeth marks he'd left on his skin, “in this garden of thorns in which I find myself.”


	3. Tit For Tat

Ten minutes had gone by quickly and soon the three men were back in the house. Garak regrettably handed over the lighter to Williams. He’d love to have kept it and burned the place to the ground. Though admittedly that would put him back in prison and he didn’t want to go there either. The fact that Garak was an ex-con at all was upsetting to him. He was a very intelligent, and crafty person, and he had prided himself on always being very careful. But eventually he had been caught and exiled from the world he had known to sit and rot in the dank corners of incarceration. In prison Garak had entertained himself by gathering all sorts of information. Prison was a society all its own with plenty of gangs, and sections, and little communities within the perimeter walls. Becoming the person inside who knew information had not only been a way to make himself useful, but in some ways it had proved beneficial--though also dangerous.

 

Garak tended to live dangerously though. The reason he was still alive was because he knew when to get out of a situation. Most people didn’t, and then the danger consumed them, and blotted out their lives. 

 

He wasn’t sure what sort of role he would take on in this new setting.

 

He sat back down at the table and finished his meal in silence.

 

When the meal was finished everyone had chores to complete. Jules went about his work dutifully, reciting medical terminology as he swept the worn linoleum flooring.  _ Calcaneus, capitate, carpals, cervical vertebrae, clavicle, coccyx, cuboid, distal phalanges, ethmoid, femur, fibula… _

 

Garak listened to the young man recite human bones in alphabetical order as he stood in a corner refusing to do his chore. It felt degrading to him to be in such a place and treated like a child. He certainly didn’t belong here.

 

_...Frontal bone, gladiolus, hamate, hip, humerus, hyoid, incus, inferior nasal conchae... _

 

Really it was a bit of a shame that Jules was here. Whatever problems he had, he seemed to be very intelligent on some level. Either that or he just had a knack for memorizing things. 

 

_...Intermediate cuneiform, intermediate phalanges, lacrimal bone, lateral cuneiform, lumbar vertebrae...  _

 

Jules had been keeping his gaze on the floor that he was sweeping but he paused his recitation of skeletal terminology, and looked up at Garak. It seemed to take him a great deal of effort to interrupt his list. He’d gone a bit twitchy.

 

“Scrubs is on channel 41 at 7:00pm, House is at 7:30pm on channel 32, and at 8:00pm on Discovery Health there’s Mystery Diagnosis which is my favorite of all of my medical programs. There are two of those, back to back, at 8:00pm and 9:00pm. Sometimes I can’t stay awake for the second one. People who have autism often have sleep problems. I’ve got insomnia. First my doctor prescribed 12.5 milligrams of Ambien for it, but that made me constipated, so then it was 10 miligrams of Sonata, but oh, I was very dizzy all the time. Now it’s--”

 

“Jules,” Garak interrupted sharply, “what is the point of telling me all of this?”

 

“--Ambien, which is giving me terrible stomach aches. I can’t even eat sometimes. Staff won’t listen to me. They think I’m faking for attention. They won’t let me read my drug labels either. So many side effects. I get very upset about all of those side effects. They’re terrible…” Jules finally paused, “oh…” he took a moment as though he had to recall what point he’d been trying to make originally, “ah yes, well, you must do your chore. We do house chores as a team, and if someone doesn’t do their chore, then we won’t get evening t.v. and I need to watch my programs. Some nights don’t have programs. But every week is the same… except if the channel stops playing reruns, or takes one of my programs off the air, or changes the time slot…” Jules groaned, “why do they have to change things?”

 

“Just to upset you I’m sure,” Garak said.

 

“No, that’s not why. I don’t know any people who work for television. They wouldn’t know about my routines,” Jules said.

 

“Why don’t you do my chore for me?” Garak said, “if you do… then I’ll sit up with you for your silly programs and I’ll nudge you awake if you fall asleep during...whatever it is that you sometimes miss for the medication kicking in.”

 

“We’re not really allowed to do each others jobs…” Jules said quietly, as though he was afraid someone might overhear them discussing it.

 

“What are they going to do to us, give us a detention? This isn’t high school,” Garak said, “it’s a good deal, isn’t it? Besides, my chore is mopping. It’s almost like sweeping. You’ve got to do the sweeping first, and then the mopping is just a bit of follow up. It’s hardly a different chore at all.”

 

That seemed to make sense to Jules so he gave in.

 

“Alright, I’ll do the mopping, but just tonight.”

 

The staff wasn’t paying attention to who was doing what anyway. After an hour had passed staff walked around to check the kitchen and dining area to make sure it was clean. They didn’t seem to be looking too hard at anything and just marked off the list that hung on the wall without even bothering to ask if the correct person had done the correct chores. Garak wasn’t surprised. He was certain that most of the techs probably didn’t want to be working there any more than Garak wanted to be living there. It wasn’t a good job and it couldn’t pay much. That was all the better for Garak. It gave him far more opportunities to bend rules and manipulate people.

After chores came the evening medications. Garak lined up behind Jules, and ahead of Jules was Elim. 

 

“Don’t forget the collioidial silver,” Garak said when Elim approached the staff member who sat at a little table dealing out medications. He handed a little cup of pills to Elim, followed by a small cup of water.

 

“There are a lot in here, but far fewer than my mother used to give me,” Elim said, and tipped the medication cup back, followed by the water. 

 

“He’s supposed to open his mouth and show you so you can make sure he swallowed them,” Jules said, as Elim walked away from the table.

 

“I don’t care,” the tech said, and handed Jules his cups.

 

Jules dumped the pill cup onto the table and began to to point out what each one was.

 

“You’re supposed to mark down that we have each thing that we’re supposed to take and we’re supposed to show your ourselves that we have everything. That way we become familiar with our medications,” Jules said, “you’re not marking them down…”

 

“You’re annoying--just take your medication,” the tech said. Garak peered around Jules to take a peek at the techs name badge. It read ‘Ellis’. 

 

“But--” Jules chewed on his finger, “you’re not doing it right. It’s procedure. We have to tell you what they are, and you mark them all off, and also I need more water. For two of them I need a full cup of water not this tiny one. Also we’re supposed to report if we’re having any side effects and Ambien gives me terrible stomach pains. I’ve been saying so for weeks now but--”

 

“You’re giving me terrible pains!” Ellis shouted.

 

He grabbed the empty medication cup from Julian and swiped all of his pills off of the table and back into it.

 

“Take your fucking shit or I’m revoking your t.v. for the night and you’ll have to go straight to bed and miss your stupid programs,” Ellis snarled.

 

Julian seemed to be on the verge of tears, taking little sips of air, unable to meet the techs angry gaze. He spent a few more moments hovering there just holding onto the cups, one in each hand, and then did as was demanded of him. He tossed the empty cups into the trash bin at the side of the medication table and left the room.

 

Garak didn’t say a word and just took what was handed to him and left.

He found Jules on the sofa in the t.v. room but he hadn’t turned the television on yet. He was just sitting on the sofa with his hands clasped behind his head, rocking himself. Elim came over and sat on the arm of the sofa next to Jules.

 

“I was outside the room and heard him shouting at you,” Elim said gently to Jules, “it was terrible… just terrible.”

 

“They don’t care, they don’t care, they’re supposed to mark things off the list, and I need more water, and it hurts me but they don’t care,” Julian sniffled.

 

“Of course they don’t care. No one cares, Jules. You’ve got to fend for yourself. You should have bitten him instead of yourself,” Garak said, “though he probably would’ve tasted foul.”

 

“Don’t tell him to bite people,” Elim snipped.

 

“I don’t hurt people!” Jules cried.

 

“Shhh, there, my dear, things will be okay…” Elim soothed, “let’s watch your programs, shall we?”

 

Elim took a moment to search for the remote and found it stuffed between two cushions. He turned the television on then tilted his head at Jules.

 

“What channel?” Elim urged. Garak thought that it seemed like Elim was trying to distract Jules’ attention to something else in order to calm him down. It seemed to be working because Jules stopped rocking, and sniffled a bit.

 

“Scrubs is on channel 41 at 7:00pm,” Jules said, “House is at 7:30pm on channel 32, and at 8:00pm on Discovery Health there’s Mystery Diagnosis, two programs, over at 10:00pm. Garak’s going to keep me awake for the second one.”

 

“Very good. I’ll help him keep you awake,” Elim said.

 

It didn’t work out as well as they’d planned. Elim’s medication had him knocked out by the middle of House. He was curled up with his head on the armrest and one arm dangling over and he was drooling all over his chin. Jules was gone during round one of Mystery Diagnosis. Garak attempted to prod him awake several times but he was just out. 

 

All the rest of the residents had gone to bed as well. Since most were on heavy duty medications a lot of people faded out early after the evening rounds. Garak was certainly feeling his tugging on him to sleep but he loathed the idea of heading to his tiny room for the night. The night staff didn’t seem to care that Elim and Jules were snoring on the sofa instead of tucked away in their rooms, so he could probably get away with avoiding having to sleep in his for the night. But before he went to sleep he had something to do.

 

He crept down the dark, empty, hallway and poked his head into the staff room.

 

“I need the key for the restroom,” he said.

 

The key was tossed at his head by the same asshole who had handed meds out that night. Garak caught it before it hit him in the face. Several moments later he returned, and handed the key back to Ellis, and looked at him rather sheepishly.

 

“I’m… afraid I’ve stopped up the toilet,” Garak said, “you might want to come help me with it.”

 

Ellis slammed the key down onto his desk and growled.

 

“You idiot--here, you do it. I don’t touch the toilets in this shithole,” he reached under the desk, pulled out an old red capped plunger, and shoved it into Garak’s hands.

 

“Oh… I’ve never done this before,” Garak said, feigning ignorance, “what if I make it worse? I think you’ll have to show me how to do it.”

 

Ellis glared at Garak. Garak knew that something had to be done about the toilet. Night staff would likely get in trouble if the morning staff came in and found an overflowing toilet. Garak’s eyes glittered at Ellis as they both stared each other down, either of them refusing to budge. Finally Ellis rose from his chair and grabbed the toilet plunger.

 

“You’re new here. You need to learn the rules in this place--most of all that you don’t run it,” Ellis snapped.

  
But it was Ellis who could be heard cursing throughout the house for hours as he fought with a plugged toilet. Not Garak.


	4. Doctor Bashir, I Presume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for going so long between updates on this one. Sorry not sorry for Garak and Ezri's interactions in this. I love when he tears her apart >> Lots of snark and sarcasm in this one.  
> Warnings for: staff abusing clients, Miles and his bigotry

Garak had hardly slept. He couldn't stand the tiny room and the fact that he was required to keep his door closed at night only made it worse. At least in prison the door hadn't been solid so there had been some illusion there that had kept the claustrophobia from having been as bad as it could have. Garak had been sent to 'the hole' twice during his incarceration. The second time he had chewed his wrists to either get out, or die. While he had paced the closetlike space of his room at the house he had kept his eyes on the jagged scars along both wrists. He remembered how terrible the prison medical staff had been. Garak was certain that not a one of them cared and that was nothing compared to some of the things that went on. But after seeing men raped by other inmates, correctional officers, and other staff, one became desensitized to any harm done to oneself or to others—not that Garak had ever had much compassion anyway. He knew that he was cold and could witness and do things that most others couldn't fathom. 

And yet he couldn't tolerate a small space.

Every hour staff would shine a light into the tiny window in the door to make sure he was still in his room. He left the room several times and paced around the house and staff would come out of their office and argue with him, threaten to dock points from his behavior chart (as if he cared about that), and finally with a string of curses and murderous glances he would allow them to lead him back to his room. He asked to be allowed to leave his door open, citing psychological distress, which would be detrimental to his treatment program anyway—but he was told that 'rules were rules'. He came into the staff office despite the fact that none of the residents were allowed in there, and demanded water, or a cigarette, or anything to buy him time out of his room. He even pissed on the floor in the dining area thinking that staff would make him clean it up and then he could take his time mopping and enjoying the more open area. But they'd just sent him back to bed and done the cleaning themselves.

By morning Garak was exhausted from lack of sleep and fighting off the constant threat of a claustrophobic attack. But at least he had won that night. His nerves were rattling and he looked like hell but he hadn't had a total breakdown and counted that as a victory. He was haunting the doorway of the office just as the sun was coming up and other residents were stirring. Now the early morning staff were handing out cigarettes to anyone who was up and needed one first thing in the morning. Garak snatched his and the lighter and went out to the porch without waiting for the other residents who were slogging around in their pajamas and their robes that were minus the belts for safety reasons.

He was the first out to smoke at lunch too.

Garak leaned against the building with his sleeves rolled up showing off his scaly tattoos and almost enjoying the warmth of the day. He flicked some ash onto the pavement at his feet.

“Hey! What d'you think you're doing!” called a voice with a distinctly Irish brogue, “listen, fella, there's a rubbish bin right there. There's no need to knock ash or toss butts onto the ground! I know you're all a little off in the head, but anybody with a grain of common sense can figure out how to use a rubbish bin!”

Garak flicked his gaze over the man. He wore a tool belt around his thick middle and his chest and shoulders were wide. His neck was solid and his face was squarish with the features seeming to be huddled up in the center. Curly blond hair sat back on his forehead—maybe the early beginnings of a receding hairline. Garak didn't like him and hoped he'd go as bald as a baseball. Garak looked down at the man's scuffed work boots and flicked an ash directly onto one of the toes.

“See here!” the man gruffed, giving his foot a shake.

“See where? You'll have to be more specific. We're all a bit off in the head here,” Garak said. He took another drag of his cigarette. 

“Now I don't care if you think you're some hotshot—you wouldn't be the first--” the man begins to point his finger at Garak. Garak considered biting it off, “rules are rules around here and there's not to be no littering!”

“And who are you to tell me what to do?” Garak asked.

“I'm Mr. O'Brien, head of maintenance. I can fix just about anything around this dump and I travel 'round to all the nut homes—excuse me—residential treatment facilities—the ones what the county owns, at least. I keep everything up and runnin' from door hinges to computers; I can fix it. Now, I don't like littering when me and my wife work so hard to keep these places livable.”

“Livable!” Garak snorted, “hardly. But where's your wife, chief? I'd like to meet her...” Garak purred.

O'Brien wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Keiko!” O'Brien called.

Garak noticed a woman pop up from a flower bed further down along the building. She moved towards the men and when she got there she tilted her floppy sunhat back on her head and swept a dirty hand over her forehead leaving a dark smudge.

“I want you to steer clear of this one,” O'Brien said to his wife, jerking his thumb at Garak, " _crazies_ ," O'Brien spat.

“Miles, you know I don't like it when you say those things,” Keiko rested her hands on her hips where a flowery apron was tied, “everyone needs a friend and this man--”

“Garak,” Garak offered as he watched Keiko with a small, amused, smile behind his smoldering cigarette.

“--Garak,” Keiko said, “needs a friend too.”

“How kind,” Garak said with equal parts sarcasm and politeness which seemed to confuse O'Brien, “I usually prefer to get my dose of pity in before breakfast. It's a bit late in the day now.”

“Huh,” O'Brien grunted, “a smartarse. Not so pleasant now, is he? Bet he's one a' the ex-cons too. Lookit those tattoos. Bet someone sewed 'em onto your skin in prison with a dirty needle. Probably got AIDS or hepatitis--or both.”

“Too bad no one has thought to sew your mouth--” Garak began.

“Ah! There you are,” Elim approached the group with his strange, kind, face. It was round, and soft, and Garak didn't like it, “I've been looking for you, Mr. Garak. Staff sent me to bring you back in. I'm afraid the smoke break was over ten minutes ago.”

“Tell them to come get me if they want me,” Garak said, “there's no reason I should listen to you—though I don't plan to listen to them either. This one thinks he can tell me what to do too,” Garak said. He tossed his butt to the pavement and ground his heel down on it. O'Brien frowned so hard Garak hoped it would stick that way.

“There's no reason to be so surly, my dear,” Elim said. He bent down and picked up the discarded butt and tossed it into the ashtray on top of the trashcan.

“See, wasn't so hard now, was it!” O'Brien huffed and crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

Garak and O'Brien continued to trade barbs while Elim commented to Keiko how lovely the plants were looking and how he had always enjoyed it when his mother had let him grow a little indoor herb garden, or water the succulents she kept in the bay window. Keiko asked him if he'd ever had a real garden. Elim shook his head sadly and explains to her that his mother would rarely allow him out of the house, and certainly not to spend hours in a garden under the beating rays of the sun that would most certainly damage his skin and exacerbate his 'illness'.

Keiko ushered Elim to the flowerbed where she had been working and entrusted him with a little hand shovel to help dig up weeds.

“Don't give him that!” O'Brien complained, and stomped off towards his wife and Elim who were kneeling in the dirt. Garak didn't think for a moment that Elim would use the hand shovel as a weapon. But Garak was having a good time entertaining the thought of what he could do with it if it was in his hands. He would have the thing shoved through O'Brien's throat, or maybe he'd wedge it up under his sternum and dig the mans heart right out of his chest. A thought that would probably make those around him ill if they could see it. But it did not bother Garak to entertain such images. However he wouldn't do it. The only reason being that he didn't want to go back to prison.

Garak left the O'Briens and Elim and headed back inside. He was greeted by a staff member who began to lecture him but Garak put a stop to that by stating that Elim was outside with a weapon. Staff members hurried out while Garak chuckled to himself and strode into the living area.

Jules was seated on the back of the couch instead of sitting in it properly. 

“What are you watching this time?” Garak asked. He flopped down lazily onto the sofa.

“Oh, oh this! Oh this—this is a very good show! It's not a medical show but there are doctors. And they're in space! Could you imagine?” Jules grinned as he was swept up into his fantasy. He climbed down from his perch and sat on top of Garak who widened his eyes.

“If I were a doctor... I'd want to go to space too. That would be a great place to practice medicine. All the alien anatomy!” Jules wiggled with excitement. 

“There are no such things as aliens, but... I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Garak said, “tell me more.”

He didn't plan to squash the young man's enthusiasm if that meant he would keep wiggling around.

“It's Star Trek, Garak. Don't you know Star Trek? It's very popular. Everyone knows about Star Trek! The Original Series—I just love Doctor McCoy! And then there's The Next Generation, and Voyager—that one has a holographic doctor—and Enterprise. That doctor is a Denobulan. They have very long tongues,” Julian stuck his tongue out, “muh longugh thah muh tuuh,” he said before putting his tongue back into his mouth, “I wish I could join Starfleet and go to space.”

“I think you're already in space,” Garak said. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of Jules shifting and moving against him. The young man was very fidgetty. 

“No, I would know it if I was in space. I wouldn't be here at all and there's no way our house can be in space. It just isn't,” Jules said, “you see--” Jules rocked back and then stopped suddenly, “oh!”

Garak's eyes fluttered open.

“You're aroused!” Jules said. He wiggled his bottom against Garak on purpose that time, “I can feel it!” Jules said loudly, and triumphantly, “I remember how that feels. It feels very... good. I miss being aroused. I like to touch my penis but it doesn't do anything fun anymore. I've told the staff and they get angry at me. They think it's not appropriate to talk about ones penis.”

“You can speak to me about it any time you like,” Garak says, “but... why can't you become aroused anymore, hm? Did you do something bad, and now they've got you chemically castrated?”

Some of Jules' color drained away.

“No! I haven't done anything bad—well... I... got caught touching my penis in public once and got into trouble. But it's not that. It's a side affect from the high dosage of duloxetine,” Jules explained, “SSRI's often decrease the libido and can cause difficulty in getting or maintaining an erection, along with delayed or blocked orgasm,” Jules sounded like an encyclopedia. 

“Which is problematic for you?” Garak asked.

“All of them,” Jules sighed, “but you don't have a problem. Can I touch it?”

Garak was surprised by how forward Jules was being. The young man didn't seem to have much of a filter.

“You can, but you need to keep it quiet. We would get into trouble if anyone knew,” Garak said.

Jules jumped up from the couch and clapped his hands together eagerly. He seemed to have forgotten all about Star Trek. Garak glanced briefly at the television where some man with a bowl haircut and pointed ears—he seemed to recall that one was Spock—who was battling another man with a ripped golden shirt who could only be Captain Kirk. They're going at it with two long spear-like weapons. Garak had more on his mind than watching some stupid show from the 1960's and he gets to his feet and tugs Jules along with him to the restroom. Luckily it was vacant, and most of the staff was outside and distracted by Garak's little joke at Elim's expense. Garak glanced down at the end of the hallway where the office was. The staff member left to tend to it was snoring away in a busted desk chair. Garak tugged Jules into the restroom and locked the door behind them.

“Oh! How fascinating!” Jules said when Garak took his cock out. It wasn't the expected response, but then Garak must remember that Jules was a bit odd, “you've still got your prepuce! I've never seen a penis that wasn't circumcised. We call it tahara—that means purification!”

“Oh, well I'm not very pure, I'm afraid,” Garak said as Julian played with the foreskin and then moved his fingers up the shaft. 

“I bet it would feel strange in my mouth,” Jules said.

“Why don't you find out?” 

Jules wrapped his hand more firmly around Garak's cock and tugged it. 

“You're very hard. Mine doesn't get that way very often now—and when it does, it doesn't last very long,” Jules pouted. Jules pushed his sweats and underwear down to his knees and twisted his hips and made his cock flop, “see? It's just terrible and _flaccid_.”

“What a shame for you,” Garak said. 

Garak curled his fingers in Jules' dark curly hair and guided him to suck his cock. He watched Jules' cock hang limply between his legs, twitching now and then, swelling minutely, trying and failing. Jules rubbed it and yanked it while he sucked Garak but the results were dismal. He seemed to enjoy using his mouth on Garak though and was quite good at it. Garak was panting and close to coming and he felt a bit sadistic. So he shoved Jules off of his cock, lifted him up by his underarms, and pressed himself flush against the younger man. Garak swiveled his hips and ground himself against Jules' limp cock until he came.

Jules frowned down at his groin and Garak's cum splattered over it.

“I want to ejaculate too,” he said, “it isn't fair—your medications don't seem to interfere with your sexual abilities at all.”

Garak grinned and tossed Jules a wad of scratchy brown paper towels.

“I don't take them,” Garak hissed, leaning into Jules' personal space, “I have had quite enough bad experiences with mind-altering substances and I don't plan to have any more. I prefer to be clear-headed. Fuck physicians, psychiatrists, pharmaceuticals, and psycho-analyses! I'm no quivering nutcase like you are—I don't belong here!”

Jules snorted as Garak shoved past him towards the restroom door.

“Everyone thinks that,” Jules said as he cleaned himself, “maybe you should stop being so angry about everything—now and then you're not so bad. Isn't there anything at all to like here? It's pretty terrible... but there are good channels on the tele and Ms. Dax is very attractive... and we get outings sometimes...and... you like me, don't you?” Jules brightened up at that. He tossed the soiled paper towels into a bin behind him and tugged his sweatpants back up his narrow thighs.

“Ha! If you think the television and an attractive employee or two are enough to make this place tolerable, then you really are insane. I don't like you, and I don't know what might have given you such an impression. I hate this place, and I hate everyone in it, including you!” Garak stormed out of the restroom.

“Please, don't do that!” Elim was begging as he was being half dragged down the hallway, past Garak, towards the office at the end, “I haven't done anything wrong!”

“You refused to put the hand shovel down despite repeated requests,” one of the staff barked at him, “you were becoming aggressive.”

“Aggressive!” Elim's voice rose in pitch and volume, “hardly! I may have been a bit irritated—I only wanted to help Ms. O'Brien with the flowerbeds. What harm is there in that? I would imagine that gardening can be quite therapeutic.”

“You're not here to plant daises,” another staff member shoved Elim into the office. Garak decided to linger around and spy to see what was going on.

“I believe you missed the word 'therapeutic'. Gardening would be. Manhandling a client would not be,” Elim said. He straightened his back and tugged the hem of his shirt down to straighten it. Garak thought he was a fussy fellow.

“Don't tell us how to do our jobs. We've been trained,” said one of the staff.

Elim huffed.

“I'm sure you have. Tell me, my dear, what level of education is required for one to be a... ah...” Elim leaned in to peer at the title on her name badge, “ _resident service tech_?”

“Brightfield has his G.E.D, and I've got a few semesters at community college,” the girl said.

“Community college, how comforting,” Elim said, “I suppose you've taken one _very basic_ psychology class then—and passed it with at least a C. I feel _so_ much better now. I entrust every part of my being into your capable hands.”

Garak was grinning from his spot outside the door. He was lurking just around the corner. At least Elim had a wonderful knack for sarcasm. Even Garak could appreciate that.

“Actually, I passed it with a C+!” the girl said brightly, “after a second time...”

“Even better,” Elim said, his voice dripping with acid, “and what do you _respected alumni_ plan to do to me now that I've violated some ridiculous rule regarding flowers?”

A hard slap rang out across Elim's cheek. The man stood there stunned and slowly raised his hand to rest against the strange silver skin of his cheek.

“Whatever we see is fit,” said the male, “you'll have to learn that.”

“And when I report your misconduct? When I show off the lovely bruise I'm going to have on my cheek?” Elim rubbed his cheek gently.

“Who will believe you over us?” the male said.

“You... you didn't have to hit him,” the girl said quietly, shuffling from foot to foot.

“I didn't hit him, Andrea,” the male said, “he hit himself. These idiots do these things for attention. They get a little mad, or sad, and decide to harm themselves. Isn't that right, you crazy sack of shit?” 

Another slap. 

Elim was wearing his inky black hair in a nubby little ponytail at the nape of his neck but the second slap was so hard that some strands fell out of place and hung sloppily around his face.

"And what about the security cameras?" Elim continued. He gestured towards one that was set up over the doorway to the office. 

“That one doesn't work,” the male said.

Garak filed that tidbit away for future use. Such information could come in quite handy. He strode away from the office deciding he was bored with this 'entertainment'. He had no sympathy for Elim taking a few weak slaps to the face. He'd seen and experienced much worse while he'd been in prison. Abuse and rape of inmates by other inmates, and staff, was the norm.

Later that day there was group therapy. Elim locked himself in the restroom and refused to come out for it. Staff deducted his 'good behavior' points for the day to zero which was enough to keep him from being able to go on that weeks outing. Garak sat in the circle that had been made of uncomfortable plastic folding chairs in the living room. When he asked why they couldn't just sit on the sofas he was told that people tended to fall asleep when allowed to do that during group. Glancing around the circle he could spot three people already slumped in their chairs, snoring, and drooling. Those doped up on the strongest medications didn't need a comfortable spot to sleep. They were nearly comatose even when standing.

Jules had chosen a seat next to the therapist and in fact had moved it very, very, close. The seats were almost touching. The therapist was attempting to hide her discomfort about that and was failing.

She was a small woman with a cute brown pixie cut, doe-eyes that seemed far too sensitive, and interesting spotted tattoos down each side of her face and neck. Jules leaned closer to Garak when he seemed to catch the older man looking at the tatoos.

“She and her cousin, Jadzia, have matching tattoos,” Jules informed Garak in a whisper that wasn't quite soft enough to actually be a whisper.

The therapist shifted uncomfortably. She also had a distinct aura about that spoke of confusion and insecurity. How perfect for exploitation, Garak thought to himself.

“Alright,” she said, sitting herself up a bit straighter and attempting to project her voice, “I see at least one new face here today, so I'll--”

“And what about my face?” Jules asked, leaning very close into the therapists personal space. She attempted to ignore him.

“I'll introduce myself,” she said, “my name is Miss Dax but... since I think that's a little stuffy, everyone here calls me Ezri.”

“Ezri,” Jules repeated the name wistfully, “a beautiful name.”

“It sounds like a skin condition,” Garak said.  


“And what's your name?” Ezri asked him. Her voice was cloying and something about it carried that tone of 'talking down' to others even though she seemed to be trying too hard to be kind.

“I'm sure I don't need to tell you. You're the therapist. You have files on all of us, I'm sure,” Garak said, “and if you think you're going to get me to confess to some trauma or a terrible childhood cobbled together of hardship and pain, you can think again, my dear. There is nothing to unravel here and even if I were some psychological enigma it would take more than a ridiculous child with regrettable tattoos to unwind even a fraction of me.”

“But you've got lizard scales tattooed all over your face,” Jules pointed out, reaching right into Garak's space and poking one of the strange curved ridges that followed Garak's brow bone and curled in a backwards 'c' shape around his orbital bone. 

“My markings are a reflection of who I am,” Garak said, an edge of defensiveness creeping into his voice, “not some mundane spots that I decided to get on a drunken dare.”

Ezri shifted uncomfortably as though Garak had pegged her just right. This made him smirk at her darkly. He hated her.

“And who are you, Mister Garak?” Ezri asked. She squared her shoulders as though trying to make herself appear larger as not to be intimidated by Garak.

“Just Garak,” he said.

He refused to respond to any more of her questioning.

Jules, however, was eager to chatter on and on and on. That was nothing out of the ordinary. He attempted several flirts with her, began down a road of conversation that was bordering on vulgar, and rattled off about his latest medication side-effects and how he was shipping certain people on reruns of House M.D. Jules went quiet and still very abruptly when Ezri asked him how he was feeling about his parents coming to visit.

Jules froze and just stared at a blank spot on the opposite wall. He sat silent and still for so long that Ezri patted his knee and turned to another client. She was about to speak to that person when Jules began to rock and pull at his hair.

“No, no, no, no. I don't want them here. I don't want them. I don't want them to come! Can't come. Can't come. Why do they have to visit me! I don't want to. Make them stop! I don't want to!” he shouted and sprang up from his chair so quickly it tipped backwards. He ran from the circle and curled up in a corner rocking himself and biting his hands.

“Well done,” Garak said with a nod to Ezri. She slumped down in her chair and sighed.

The door to the restroom opened and Elim poked his head out. He must have heard Jules screaming and was looking to see what was going on. 

“You must be Elim,” Ezri said, sitting up straight in her chair again, “I'm glad you've finally come out. Why don't you join us? We still have a little time left for today's session.”

“Haven't you done enough damage for one day?” Elim said.

He moved towards Jules and crouched down near him. The boy was still mumbling and muttering his words coming out so fast and falling over and on top of each other into something that was mostly incoherent. 

“He'll start with the delusions again,” Ezri said.

“You would know about delusions, wouldn't you?” Garak said, “after all, you seem to think you're a capable therapist.”

“I am a capable therapist!” Ezri said. She pressed her fingers to her lips after realizing she'd been shouting, “I... I am,” she said, lowering her voice, “I'm just new at this.”

“They wouldn't send us a real therapist, would they? Are you licensed, my dear? Have you graduated? Or is this some experimental internship for college credit?” Garak said, “perhaps you're writing your dissertation on methods of frightening clients into bouts of psychosis?”

“You're trying to undermind me, and it won't work,” Ezri said.

Garak was certain that Ezri Dax was right about very little—but she was right about Jules and his delusions. Apparently knowing his parents were coming to visit was enough to trigger these. No longer did he just want to be a doctor, and spout off encyclopedic knowledge of medical terms, diagnoses, and procedure, but he really thought that he was a doctor. He insisted that clients and staff refer to him as Doctor Julian Bashir. He wouldn't respond to or acknowledge 'Jules' at all. He was convinced that he was a residential doctor at the home rather than a client himself. He carried around a spoon and used it as though it were a stethoscope. He pressed the spoon to Garak's chest and after 'having a listen' claimed that he was suffering from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Elim had it much worse. Jules claimed that he was suffering from pulmonary edema and end stage congestive heart failure. After days of Jules telling him this multiple times a day Elim had began to become anxious and paranoid that something really was wrong with his heart. A panic attack ensued which Elim insisted was a heart attack.

Staff left him wheezing and clutching his chest on the floor.

Had he been having an actual heart attack it was likely he would have been dead. Luckily 'Doctor Bashir' was there to save him.

Garak was tired of the whole thing.


End file.
